


putting the "wind" in window

by MissMairin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Oblivious Iwaizumi Hajime, iwazumi is an idiot and oikawa is offended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMairin/pseuds/MissMairin
Summary: god, hajime's never been so embarrassed by something so petty in his life. as a last minute precaution before his interview, he checks his hair in the reflection of a car window. well, it turns out there was someone on the other side -- and let's just say they don't let hajime go without a hassle.





	putting the "wind" in window

Hajime is going to write a strongly worded letter to the local weatherman, he decides. Liars should not be allowed to be meteorologists. “It’s going to be a warm, sunny day, with minor cloud cover and little to no wind.”

 

_ Yeah, right. No wind. _

 

Outside his car, trees are being whipped back and forth from the violent wind. In the past minute, he’s seen two angry women walk by with their hair in their face. He can sympathize. Despite it being totally out of character, Hajime actually brushed _ and  _ styled his hair this morning. It’s better to look professional and well put-together, rather than walking into his interview with terrible bedhead. 

 

With another quick glance at his hair, he steels himself for the awful wind. He unlocks his door and the wind is kind enough to open it for him, ripping the door wide open. Without even getting out of his car, his hair is tousled back and forth, ruining any chance at having nice hair. At this point, it doesn’t matter. He just needs to get to the building, and he can fix his hair there, if he has time.

 

Finally getting out of the car, he takes big strides to get across the parking lot as quickly as possible. The longer he’s out here, the more tangled his hair becomes. Just as Hajime reaches the sidewalk to the building, the wind dies down. Figures. His luck must be awful, and he briefly wonders if he had done something bad in a previous life. 

 

A disgustingly bright car grabs Hajime’s attention. The car is parked in the closest spot to the building, which he could have sworn was the handicap spot — especially because of the awful parking job. Only an idiot or an elderly person could have parked like that. Instead, however, a sign labeled RESERVED is positioned at the front of the spot. 

 

His train of thought quickly cycles from how brightly colored the car is, to the parking spot itself, and then moves on to the windows of the car. Stepping closer, Hajime notices the windows are incredibly tinted. He can’t see anything on the inside. The outside, though? He can see that perfectly. The car windows work as a functioning mirror, and he’s devastated to see how wildly messy his hair is.

 

The wind has died down, and Hajime presses his luck. He quickly fixes his hair in the window, hoping the wind will stay down just long enough. Fluffing his hair as much as possible, he tries some facial expressions in the mirror. A friendly smile. A professional, “yes, I’m listening,” expression. 

 

Hajime sighs. He’s never been much of an actor. Staring at his reflection, he gives up on the expressions. Instead, he puffs out his cheeks, holding his breath. He smacks his cheeks with both hands, instantly blowing the air out. 

 

_ Get a hold of yourself.  _

 

_ You can do this. _

 

“I can do this,” Hajime echoes aloud. He takes a few deep breaths, gathering his courage. Double checking his hair, he turns to the building, walking with newfound confidence. He can do this. Pushing the door open, he repeats, “I can do this.”

 

A little over an hour later, Hajime leaves the building with a good feeling. He’s pretty sure he’ll get, at the very least, a call back for the second round of interviews. More likely, he thinks he’ll get the job. He tries to keep his usual calm, no bullshit character, but it’s no use. He’s actually in a good mood — and that’s rare.

 

Opening the door, the first thing he notices is that the same car is still there. How could he forget? That vibrant combination of cyan and white would be hard to mistake. He smiles softly to himself: he can’t help himself. He’s in a good mood. Despite how utterly ugly the car sounds in theory, it is actually a sleek looking car. His gaze drifts away from the car and stops on the man next to the car. 

 

Leaning against the front car door, wearing the same god awful combination of colors, is something Hajime immediately labels as “a headache.” All he knows is that this person is wearing matching colors with their car, and yet, he’s sure this isn’t going to end well. Taking a deep breath, he briskly walks past “the headache,” trying to ignore the man that just screams mischief. 

 

He doesn’t get very far. 

 

The man kicks his heels nonchalantly and grins, “How’d it go?”

 

Hajime stops in his tracks, but doesn’t turn. He won’t give this man that satisfaction. Gritting his teeth, he asks, “What?”

 

The man pushes off his car to turn towards Hajime. Taking a step closer, he ignores Hajime’s question. Instead, he smiles again, and asks his own question: “You had an interview, right? How did it go?”

 

Eyes narrowing, Hajime turns to face the man. Everything about this situation tells him to get the hell out of there. How did he know that? Was this guy a stalker? Hajime thinks for a second, debating to ignore everything, but his personality wins over logic. Instead of ignoring this creep, like he probably should, Hajime is pissed. There’s no way he’s leaving, not yet. Determined to get some real answers, He stands tall, confident, and demands, “How did you know that?”

 

“You fixed your hair in my car window,” the man says, blunt and simple.

 

“What?” 

 

Hajime feels like a broken record at this point: all he’s doing is asking questions. He can’t help it. The man is speaking in riddles, and Hajime truly does not understand. All he can do is ask questions. 

 

Of course, instead of answering any of those questions, the mystery man huffs in annoyance, as if he thought Hajime was an idiot. He turns, facing his car, and bends down, messing with his hair dramatically. Then it clicks, and Hajime really does feel like an idiot. That car was the one he had used as a mirror, just an hour prior. The man continues to pretend to fix his hair, deliberately mimicking Hajime’s earlier actions. He even adds a sigh for good measure — obviously making fun of Hajime’s deep breath to calm himself down.

 

Hajime hates this guy.

 

Straightening up, the jerk faces Hajime again. He still doesn’t supply answers, just more questions. This time, he smiles innocently, like he’s pretending he wasn’t just trying to piss Hajime off. It gets worse. Even though he already knows the answer, he adds insult to injury, asking, “Does that ring any bells?”

 

Hajime  _ really _ hates this guy.

 

Mumbling some sort of an affirmative, he deliberately avoids eye contact. God, this is so embarrassing. Maybe he really is an idiot. It wasn’t all that hard to put two and two together: this guy had been inside his car when Hajime was fixing his hair. He must have seen  _ everything. _ Hajime wants to call him out on voyeurism and being a creep, but if anything, he was the one staring inside of a car that was not his…

 

Wonderful.

 

He decides it isn’t his fault. In fact, it’s all the mystery man’s fault. Hajime didn’t see anything, he just used the windows as a mirror. Who in their right mind had such tinted windows? It’s not like he was a celebrity or something, right?

 

“To be fair,” the guy says, and Hajime is polite enough to stop his mental complaints to listen. The guy smiles again — is he always smiling? — but at least it seems somewhat sincere this time. His smile and body language do a complete one-eighty: his aura switches from almost creepy to amicable and somehow… affectionate. The atmosphere changes so quickly that Hajime thinks he’s getting whiplash. The man’s tone adapts with the change of environment,, and Hajime is pretty sure he’s being flirted with when he’s told, “You looked  _ really _ good. Like,  _ dramatically _ good.”

 

Completely ignoring the idea of a synonym for “good,” the man stresses the word dramatically instead — as if it’s supposed to mean something. It doesn’t. Hajime thinks how easily a synonym for “looked really good,” could have been used, but doesn’t reply. Rather, he stares blankly at the man, sifting through those various synonyms he’s got archived away in his mind.

 

_ Good-looking;  pleasing to the eye; attractive; appealing; captivating; aesthetically pleasing; delectable; glamorous; alluring; handsome, beautiful; stunning; gorgeous; dreamy; adorable; pretty; sexy; cute; hot _ …

 

It’s only when he gets to the basics that he actually realizes it was a compliment. Or, it’s supposed to be. Hajime still doesn’t reply. The longer the silence stretches, the more the man’s expression seems to darken. Like, somehow, not replying had hurt his feelings. It made no sense, and Hajime is confused. 

 

Again.

 

Honestly, he wants to continue walking and ignore the guy, but what would his mother say? _ Hajime, please and thank you are your best friends!  _ He sighs. Manners wins over logic, like always.

 

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbles. The man goes back to smiling, looking at Hajime expectantly. What did this guy want  _ now _ ? Unsure of what to do next, Hajime simply says, “I’m leaving.”

 

It doesn’t take long — Hajime only takes two steps, in fact — for him to yell, “Wait!”

 

Stopping, Hajime slowly turns back. He notices that the man, too, had taken two steps forward. What was with this guy? This is too weird for it to be a first meeting, and yet, they’re complete strangers. But he can’t help but think … have they met before, or something? 

 

Well, not quite, apparently. 

 

“You really don’t know who I am?” he asks, seeming both offended and slightly disappointed. He crosses his arms and stares at Hajime like he’s the biggest moron on the planet. “Do you live under a rock?”

 

“I live in an apartment,” Hajime deadpans. He takes a moment to go through old memories. Perhaps they had met, and he didn’t remember. Nothing comes to mind, though. Annoyed, Hajime gets straight to the point, “Who are you? Have we met before?”

 

“You really must be a moron,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

 

“What did you just say?”

 

“Nothing!” the man says brightly, and quickly changes the subject. He smiles and, finally, explains, “My name is Tooru.”

 

The man — Tooru, apparently —  stares at Hajime again, obviously waiting for some kind of reaction. They both wait, and nothing happens. Not even a delayed response from Hajime. Tooru groans and puts a hand to his forehead as if this whole ordeal was a headache. 

 

Hajime is inclined to agree. 

 

“Really, you’ve got nothing?” Tooru asks, scoffing in annoyance. Hajime shakes his head and Tooru frowns, looking away dramatically. He crosses his arms to add to the effect. Without looking at Hajime, he sighs and says, “Tooru. You know, the actor?”

 

A pause.

 

No response from Hajime.

 

Tooru laughs, “Wow. You really must live under a rock —”

 

“I said I live in an apartment,” Hajime grumbles. 

 

“— right, an apartment,” Tooru levels with him. He thinks for a second, tapping his finger on his cheek. His eyes light up and he exclaims, “You must not have a tv! That must —”

 

“I have a tv, thanks.”

 

“— be it. Huh. Guess not,” he says, laughing nervously. He rubs the back of his neck, but snaps his fingers. “I’ll list some of the stuff I’ve been in! I’m sure you’ve seen at least one —”

 

“Are you sure you’re famous?” Hajime asks, genuinely curious. Immediately, it’s obvious that was definitely  _ not _ the right thing to say. Tooru’s face falls, for a nano second, before putting on a fake smile. Perhaps the fake expression would’ve worked on anyone else, but that small second of unhappiness… it didn’t get past Hajime.

 

His mom’s words come back to him, again. He could hear her now.  _ Are you just going to walk away, or will you take responsibility?  _ He cringes, slightly. That memory is not the best to recall, despite what he learned from it. 

 

He smiles, focusing on seeming as welcoming and friendly as possible. People have told him he’s intimidating, that he’s got the male version of the resting-bitch-face. He really has had to work at seeming easy-going. Hajime hopes that practice comes in handy. Taking a deep breath, he backtracks. “I’m sure you are famous, Tooru. I did not mean to imply anything, it’s just true I don’t watch much of anything.”

 

Tooru perks up. 

 

“Really?”

 

It’s working.

 

“Yeah, really,” Hajime says. He relaxes his smile but hopes his facial expression still gives off warmth. Tooru, instead, smiles right back at him. Sincere, this time, too. Hajime delivers the final step of his backtracking plan, asking, “Can you recommend me something of yours?”

 

“Sure!”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not until he’s kicked off his shoes and collapsed into bed that he remembers: his interview was for a management position… at an  _ entertainment company.  _ Hajime sighs, draping an arm over his eyes. There’s no way he would have to see Tooru again, would there? The chances would be slim, right? Hajime would be in management and Tooru would be out and about, doing whatever famous people do. 

 

He closes his eyes, ignoring all thoughts. 

 

Hajime dreams that he gets the job, but it’s not exactly what he expected. The “management” refers to being in charge of and managing an actor/singer’s schedule. 

 

In this dream, Hajime is seated at a round office table, dressed nicely. He taps his foot in annoyance and glances at the time on his phone. The actor he will be in charge of was supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago. Hajime sighs. He supposed his has his work cut out for him, if his actor ever wants to be on time. 

 

The door slams open dramatically, and Hajime glances up. A silhouette steps forward, grinning. “Sorry I’m late.”

 

_ Tooru. _

 

_ It’s … Tooru.  _

 

His instincts tell him it’s Tooru, but logically, he can’t be sure. The man is still a silhouette in his dream, of all things. However, Hajime’s inclined to believe in his instincts: all of his senses are screaming that it’s Tooru.

 

It has to be.

 

Hajime wakes up with a jolt. Glancing around, he’s in his room. A deep breath. Just a dream. Yet it felt so real… How could his imagination possibly know the dream man was Tooru when Hajime never saw the face? 

 

He wants to just write it off as a dream, but it feels weird. Either that… was an imaginative nightmare, or a really, really bad premonition. Hajime doesn’t want to find out. 


End file.
